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And no, he hadn’t mourned his father’s death. He hadn’t thought to. He had respected his father and always done his duty by him, but he hadn’t really known the man, other than as his King. And as for his mother...she had never asked for Jag’s love and never wanted him to give it.
His throat thickened. Regan James didn’t know what she was talking about with her fairy-tale ideas about life. She’d never known duty or hardship. She had never... He frowned. Actually, she had known duty and hardship. And still she remained soft and open. Trusting that people behaved the way that they should. Little fool.
Yes, he would be on one side of the palace, she on the other. Because whenever he was around her she managed to twist logic and common sense into something unrecognisable. And really, why would he see her again? She was a means to an end. When that end came about they’d part company and never see each other again. And wasn’t that a cause for celebration?
He gave Zumar a hearty slap on the back. ‘Thanks, Chef.’
Zumar blinked. ‘What for?’
‘For helping me realise what was wrong.’
Zumar cracked his jaw. ‘Next time I’d appreciate you working that out before we get into the ring, boss-man.’
Jag laughed. It felt good to be on solid ground again. Back in charge.
Last night...the chemistry between them, the way she made him question himself... Gone. Completely gone.
At least it was right up until Tarik burst into his dressing room thirty minutes later, his forehead pleated like an accordion.
Jag immediately stopped whistling. ‘Milena?’
‘No, no, I have no updates on Milena, Your Majesty.’
Jag let out a relieved breath, pulling on his trousers. ‘Then it’s something to do with the American. I can see the signs of frustration on your face. Don’t let it bother you. I imagine she has that effect on everyone she meets.’
‘Yes, sir, it is the American woman.’
‘What has she done now? Tied her bed sheets together and scaled the palace wall? Planned out my demise in three easy steps? Whatever it is,’ Jag assured him as he pulled a white shirt from its hanger, ‘I’m not going to let it ruin my good mood.’
‘She connected to the internet and uploaded a picture of herself at the palace.’
‘Say what?’ Jag nearly tore a new armhole in his shirt as he thrust his arm through it. ‘Let me see.’
Tarik turned the tablet around so that the screen faced him. He scanned the photo that showed way too much of Regan’s sexy cleavage in an ice-blue bra.
Jag knew five Santarian dialects and he swore in all five of them. ‘Isn’t that the pool in the garden suite?’ he bit out.
‘Yes, sir. This is a social-media post from the palace.’
He went still. ‘The palace is not on social media.’
‘No, sir, but Miss James is.’
‘Miss James does not have a phone or any other device with her.’
‘No. But she somehow got access to one and two hours ago she uploaded this post.’
‘She got access to one?’ Jag repeated softly. ‘How?’
‘The IT department is working on obtaining that information. They should know very soon.’ There was a touch of desperation in Tarik’s voice and Jag knew that his aide was trying to handle him.
‘Take it down before anyone sees it,’ he ground out. Like her brother, whom he had no doubt had been the troublesome woman’s intended audience.
‘I already ordered it to be taken down, Your Majesty.’ Tarik swallowed heavily. ‘Unfortunately it has already been seen.’
Jag paused in the process of buttoning his shirt, a sense of foreboding turning his powerful frame tense. ‘By whom?’
‘The post has been shared across various multimedia outlets six million times, sir.’
